"Ouch."
Harry smirked as he spoke, but Peter knew him well enough not to take it personally, smiling back. He'd removed the bandage on his left hand, revealing the swollen section caused by the spider bite.
"That's what you get for spending your evenings with spiders. Maybe next time you'll accept my offer of a night at Osborn Manor?"
Peter smiled.
"Don't tell me you feel neglected? All the best toys and friends money can buy, and you missed little old me?"
"Just get a room, you two."
Gwen had been standing back, looking on silently, but stepped in now. Peter held out his exposed hand to her as he had to Harry – she gently took it in her own and moved it a little closer to her eyes.
"Are you sure that's okay?" she whispered shyly.
Peter felt a little embarrassed by the concern on her face. Like teenage boys the world over, he was more comfortable with detachment and irony than open displays of emotion. Still, it was nice to feel so cared for.
"The nurse at the university said it's probably not as bad as it looks. I've got a doctor's appointment on Friday to check up on it."
Gwen held his hand close enough to her spectacled eyes to give a good impression of a medical examination. She always either wore contacts or went without on occasions like the concert the other night, when she dressed up. But he thought she looked just as pretty in her glasses.
"Just promise me you'll be careful, okay?" Her request was spoken with tenderness, her eyes seeming to widen as she did so. "If it's a new species, there's no way of telling what those spiders are capable of."
Their moment of intimacy was interrupted by loud laughter from Harry, who saw in the body language of his friends what each thought they saw in the other, but dismissed as too good to be true.
"I think you two need to get a room."
The pair shrunk in on themselves, each looking away, in fear that the other might discover how they felt.
Peter threw his bag down on his bed, looking around for his rail pass as he gulped down half a can of soda. Spotting it on his cabinet, he reached across. Slipping, he placed his left hand on the wall to try and stop himself… and found it stuck.
Confused, Peter halted his hectic search, and looked at the wall. He couldn't see anything, and, running his fingertips across the wall, the wall didn't feel sticky.
He placed his left hand against another part of the wall, again, it was sticking there as well. He tried the same with his right hand – but that slid right off.
Peter held the palm of his hand up to his eyes, so closely that his eyeballs were almost touching. They were tiny, but, in between the ridges of his fingerprint, he was sure he could see hairs. He ran the thumb of his right hand upwards from the bottom of his left palm, and could feel a little discomfort – the sensation of pushing against the grain. He moved his thumb in the opposite direction, without impediment.
His hand seemed to have the same kind of bristles that allowed spiders to grip uneven surfaces, growing from within his skin.